Ruin
by sinceyoufellinlovewithme
Summary: An AU of Cora and Robert's early years based on Robert's comment to Mary in season 2: "I don't want my daughter married to a man who would threaten her with ruin."
1. Chapter 1

AN: This is extremely bad timing on my part for beginning a new story, but an idea took hold of me and wouldn't let go. I have a lot going on the next two weeks (and I'm taking the GMAT on June 6, so this is crunch time for studying), so bare with me if my updates don't always come quickly.

I hope you enjoy, and please review! :-)

* * *

 **L** **ondon, 1888**

"Shh," Andrew breathed, pulling away from Cora. "Someone's coming."

She heard the same footsteps he did on the gravel path, and she froze, hoping they were not about to be discovered. With the millions in her dowry, she thought her reputation would survive being spotted alone in a garden with a man, but she'd rather be spared the embarrassment, as well as the lecture she'd get if the story got back to her mother. To her relief, the footsteps soon died away. Whoever it was had apparently only been out for a stroll of his own and had no knowledge of the couple on the other side of the hedge.

"I think we're quite safe now," Cora whispered, and Andrew responded by wrapping his arms around her waist again and covering her mouth with his own. Her own arms re-entwined themselves around his neck, and she was soon kissing him so hard she could barely breathe. His hands were up and down her back and everywhere at once, and suddenly they were slipping far lower than they should but she wasn't sure she minded. She had been kissed only a handful of times in New York, and those had all been quick pecks in stolen moments when she and a beau had been left briefly unsupervised. She had certainly never been kissed like _this_ , she thought, as she pressed her body closer to Andrew's.

Cora and her mother had arrived in London only a week ago, and they were making a brief round of parties in the city before retreating to a variety of countryside estates. They had come, of course, with the intention of finding an aristocrat who was willing to lend an American heiress his title in exchange for her fortune. The goal was an earl or a future earl, and Martha Levinson did not doubt they had the money to achieve it.

Cora fully endorsed this plan, but more than that she endorsed the idea of the bit of freedom the English season was allowing her. They had brought only their two lady's maids, and thus her mother did not have a full entourage of chaperones available to her. Martha herself was quite distracted by her new surroundings and threw herself into the task of studying each ballroom and drawing room full of bachelors, leaving Cora to flirt as she pleased at most parties. And to be unchaperoned and loose in a foreign country, with the task of finding a husband, was heady stuff for a girl who had left high school a month prior.

"Cora," Andrew breathed, coming up for air and beginning to leave a trail of kisses down her neck. "God, you're exquisite." His hands squeezed her hips and firmly traced up her sides, and she gasped when his thumbs brushed her breasts.

"I'm sorry," he said smoothly. "Have I offended you?" But he did not remove his hands.

"N-no," she stuttered. "No, not at all." In truth she knew everything about this situation was so far from what was proper that they were likely to meet proper again coming from the other direction. She had known that from the moment she'd followed him outside, but the brush of her breasts had suddenly brought home to her that this was not just improper; it was _wrong_.

But she'd had quite a bit of champagne, and she was even more drunk on her freedom and the grown-up-feeling she'd had since they'd docked at Southampton, and there was a small voice inside her head saying, _No one will ever know._ And what was more, she did not know how much time she had with Andrew.

Cora had met Andrew Marks at her very first ball six nights ago and had been hopelessly charmed after one dance. He was a good ten years her senior, but he had eyes for no one but her, and he was full of commentary and advice on the new world before her. He had taken her under his wing and then into his arms, and she had fallen head over heels for him.

Andrew was both untitled and rich—in other words, the same as her—and thus he was not husband material. "Please don't waste any more dances on that Mr. Marks!" her mother had begged. "We haven't come three thousand miles to talk to nice rich men. There were plenty of those in New York!" And so Cora knew their time together was short.

"Are you sure you're all right, Cora?" Andrew asked, snapping her attention back to the present.

She smiled shyly. "Of course."

He took that as license to cup her breast with his right hand and pull her closer with his left. She knew she should pull away, should tell him to stop, to release her, but her excitement won out over her squeamishness and she sighed as he kissed her again. His hand did feel rather…nice there.

"Let's go inside, then," he said against her cheek.

"Inside?" She knew she should be relieved, but all she could feel was disappointment.

She felt his chest shake with silent laughter. "Not inside, back to the party. I meant—inside, upstairs. I know some of the servants; there's a discrete footman here who can show us to a room while everyone's distracted."

"I can't spend the night here," she said. She'd be lucky if her mother hadn't missed her yet.

"Of course not. But a few minutes together would be heaven enough."

Cora was not sure what sex involved, but she was clear enough on the matter to know that was what was being suggested. She also knew it would be quite impossible, but she was flattered at the request.

"My…my husband…" she said. Andrew's hand was moving against her breast in a way that made it very difficult to think straight. "I am expected to be a virgin for my husband," she said at last.

"And how do you imagine he can tell the difference?"

She did not answer, not wanting to admit her own ignorance. Could men not tell? "Most men can't tell, darling," he said, as though hearing her thoughts. "Certainly not some inexperienced, foppish earl like your mother intends for you."

She giggled, and the reality of his words hit her. That would be precisely what she would be getting: some buttoned-up aristocrat even more ignorant than she was.

"Do you really want your future husband to be all you know of love?" he whispered.

No. She knew she didn't want that. She was destined to be married to a man who didn't love her, and she was willing to make that bargain in exchange for a life as a countess, but it suddenly seemed very unfair as she stood in the arms of a man who _did_ seem to love her. Surely it was an understandable temptation. Surely God could forgive her this…

"What if I…there can't be a baby," she said. They both knew that this statement was not an objection so much as an obstacle she wanted him to overcome for her.

And Andrew laughed again. "Oh Cora! You don't know much of the world, do you? It takes more than what we'll do tonight to have a baby! You can't lose your virginity and conceive a child at the same time!"

She smiled. "Then I think I've run out of excuses, Mr. Marks."


	2. Chapter 2

"Where on earth did you get off to?" Martha Levinson asked her daughter as the two women settled into the carriage that would take them back to their lodgings. "Every time I looked around for you, you were nowhere to be found."

Cora shrugged. "Oh, I don't know, Mama. I danced a bit and talked with some of the gentlemen. I didn't see much of you either."

Martha narrowed her eyes. "I hope you weren't wasting more of your time on that Mr. Marks character."

"Oh no," Cora replied, and she knew that her voice was unnaturally high. She was thankful that her mother couldn't see her blush in the dark. "No, Mr. Marks and I didn't talk much at all."

That, at least, was not a lie. Their time upstairs had hardly felt like the moment for conversation: it had been far too glorious for that. Cora knew very well that she'd done something very wrong indeed, and she knew her mother would likely throw herself from the moving carriage in despair if she knew how her daughter had passed the evening, but she could not conjure up the faintest hint of guilt. She was far too thrilled at having given her virginity to her first love, and she was far too pleased with the afterglow of how wonderfully _fun_ it had all been.

It had been painful at first, of course, but she'd known enough to expect that. Then there had been a bit of blood, but Andrew had tried to calm her by telling her that was common "the first time." The phrase had only panicked her further—would her future husband notice blood was missing? "Oh, well, not every woman bleeds the first time," he'd said breezily. "He won't think a thing about it."

And after the initial unpleasantness, it had been quite fun indeed. She was actually quite surprised at how very _wonderful_ it had felt—no one had ever told her she might enjoy sex as much as she had.

"Did you enjoy the party?" her mother asked her then, and it was all Cora could do not to choke.

"Very much, Mama," she said, willing herself not to laugh. "Very much indeed."

* * *

It was a different matter the next morning when Cora's maid drew the curtains in her hotel room. She realized, as she sat up, that she was slightly sore _there_ —normal, she supposed, for her first time, but the sensation combined with the blinding daylight—and her new sobriety—to make the evening before seem very foolish and very regrettable.

Yes, she'd been tipsy, and yes, she'd been excited at her love for Andrew and at her freedom, and yes, she'd been very flattered to think that he was so very attracted to her, but what on earth had she been thinking? _Nice girls don't do these things,_ she thought, an echo of what she'd been told all her life. What would her father have thought? Or any of her friends back home?

And what of her future husband? Cora did not doubt that he wouldn't know the difference, but _she_ would. How humiliating it would be to present herself as a blushing bride on her wedding night, when she'd already done the deed before they'd even met.

"Are you all right, Miss Levinson?" Miss Griffin asked. "You don't look well."

Cora shook her head. "I'm fine…just slow to wake up this morning."

Her maid nodded sympathetically. "Do you need anything, miss? Should I fetch something for your head?"

"No, no," she said, pushing the covers back. She wasn't hung over—she had not been drunk enough for that. Indeed, she wished she _had_ been—drunkenness would have been an excellent excuse for her brazen behavior. She had had a few drinks, but not so much that she hadn't known what she was doing.

 _This does not matter,_ she told herself firmly as Griffin dressed her. No one would ever know, no one _need_ ever know, and it wasn't as though any man who married her wasn't getting a good enough bargain: she was still worth millions, even if she wasn't as virtuous as she'd be pretending.

And she'd _enjoyed_ it. Last night's excitement rose up again at the thought, and she smiled slightly. It had been fun, and surely there was something to be said for the fact that she was now far more prepared for her marriage than most brides.

"Miss, I don't know if you'll have heard this yet, but Mrs. Levinson has decided to depart for Yorkshire tomorrow morning, so I'll be sure to have your cases packed this afternoon, except for what you'll need tonight."

"What?" She'd thought she still had another week in London, another week to see Andrew…

Griffin nodded. "Mrs. Levinson thinks you'll have a better advantage meeting gentlemen at house parties at the various estates. She says she's beginning to feel London's too busy for anything serious, and so you might as well head out."

Cora did not disagree with her mother's logic, and she had known there could not be anything permanent with Andrew, but to leave so soon…

"We're still going to the ball in Chester Square tonight, right?" she asked her maid. She'd at least have one more chance to see him.

"As far as I'm aware, miss."

Yet Cora did not find Andrew Marks at that night's ball: she had thought he'd planned to be there, but it was as though he had simply vanished. _You can write him and tell him where you've gone,_ she told herself, trying to soothe her disappointment.


	3. Chapter 3

AN: All of the names of houses in this story are real estates and manors, but they're not necessarily in Yorkshire. I just picked names and pictures I liked off the web (after all, Highclere itself is much closer to London than York), so if you're British, and you come across a house you know and think, "Hey, that's not in Yorkshire"...you're right. ;-)

* * *

"You dance very well for an American, Miss Levinson," Robert Crawley said, his voice serious but his eyes laughing as they twirled around Endcliffe Hall.

"Do you usually find our dance skills lacking, my lord?" Cora asked. She was not offended—she had come to like the Viscount Downton very much in the week she'd spent in Yorkshire.

"Certainly not, Miss Levinson. But my mother always prepares me that any women recently arrived from the colonies are likely to still be covered in war paint, so I never know what to expect."

She laughed at this, knowing the joke was far more on his mother than on her.

"You've met her, yes?"

Cora nodded. "Your sister, Lady Rosamund, introduced me. She seems like…something of a _force_ , I would say."

"I hope that didn't scare you off. Her bark is worse than her bite, and the rest of my family doesn't bite at all."

She smiled at the implication that it would matter whether she was scared off. The viscount was the heir to an earldom and thus perfectly suitable, and she found him very likable indeed. He was not Andrew, and he lacked the air of romance and adventure of that other gentleman, and he certainly hadn't kissed her, but she knew better than to expect love and excitement from the sort of man she was meant to marry. Amusing, kind, and handsome would have to be enough.

"I think she may meet her match in my own mother, sir," she told him.

"Perhaps you and Mrs. Levinson ought to come out to Downton, then," he said suddenly. "Come join us for a Saturday-to-Monday. We could ride out over the grounds, you could see our estate, and we could decide whether our mothers are indeed well-matched."

* * *

Martha Levinson, of course, leapt at the invitation as soon as Cora relayed it. A personal invitation for a private stay was a far cry from the general invitations they'd received for house parties, and the Viscount Downton was precisely what they were looking for. She had not expected to kick a goal quite so quickly, but she had been in a hurry to achieve Cora's marriage to a titled man since she'd heard the words, "It's a girl," eighteen years earlier, and thus it was with great excitement that she chose dresses for them both.

Cora herself was not nearly so excited—the sooner she achieved a proposal, the sooner she would be wed, and the sooner she was wed, the sooner she was tied down and stuck on a dull estate far from any desirable city. Marriage would also mean she could not see Andrew again—at least, not as any more than a friend—and she was still quite optimistic that, provided she were not married too soon, she could talk her mother into returning to London, at least for a few more weeks.

Yet she did _like_ Lord Downton and enjoyed his company, and she was quite flattered at the speed of his invitation. And when she arrived at Downton Abbey several days later, she was immediately charmed by the rambling, castle-like home. It would not be, she thought as she examined the paintings lining the stairs on her first night, such a dreadful place to live.

Lord Downton had suggested riding horses the next morning, and Cora dressed in the habit that had been made for her before she'd left America. "I understand the English are quite enamored of their horses when they're in the country," her mother had said. "You'll likely get stuck up on one of those beasts before we've been there long." And thus Cora had also had two brief lessons at stable in upstate New York. She was comfortable enough with the concept of riding, provided nothing more was required but a slow walk in a circle.

For a while, this beginner's sort of thing seemed to be all that _was_ required. The Crawleys' groom helped her up onto a chestnut-colored mare while Lord Downton climbed onto his own horse, and then the viscount led her off on a slow tour of the estate. She had far better views here than she had ever had in New York—everything was so _green_ in England, she mused for the fiftieth time—and his lordship made a more pleasant companion than her instructors had ever been.

He asked her about her homeland and seemed genuinely curious about the sights and sounds of New York and about the family's summer home in Rhode Island. He had never crossed the Atlantic, he admitted with a tinge of envy, and thus he wanted to know the details of the voyage and how different England felt from America. And he asked as well about her family and her childhood and laughed heartily at the stories she told of her rambunctious, unpredictable younger brother. His attention made her rather nervous at first—Cora was not sure she'd ever had anyone hang on her words like this—but she quickly grew to enjoy it.

She asked him, eventually, about his own home: what could he tell her about growing up at Downton? The abbey was clearly his favorite subject, she soon realized, and his face glowed as he told her of its history and his favorite rooms and his plans as the future master.

It was in the midst of all this that she heard a gunshot—close, but not near enough to frighten her. It was enough to frighten her horse, though, and the animal flattened its ears and took off running. Cora screamed—an action she instantly regretted, for the noise only panicked the horse further, its legs scrambling beneath it as it tore across the field. She felt herself bouncing in the saddle and said a silent prayer that she would not be thrown as she gripped the reins so tightly she thought her hands might bleed.

It seemed they ran for hours, but she knew it could not have been more than a few moments before she heard Lord Downton calling to the horse, and suddenly he was at her side, reaching out for the animal and calming it, until it slowed to a trot and finally halted.

Cora took a deep breath and squeezed her eyes shut, trying to stop the spinning of the world around her.

"Are you all right, Miss Levinson?" he asked breathlessly, and she nodded. "My father—I knew he would be out shooting today, but I didn't know we were so near; I didn't think—I'm sorry, so sorry."

He sounded so upset that she almost felt sorry for him, but when she opened her eyes, all she could think of was how very far she was from the ground. Had horses always been this high up? Her breathing quickened again.

"Miss Levinson—"

"Get me down from here," she squeaked. "Please!"

Lord Downton leapt off his horse and quickly moved to lift her down from her own. When he set her on the ground, she felt her knees tremble, and she grasped hold of his jacket before she realized his hands still had a firm hold on her waist.

"I'm sorry," she gasped, her heart still racing. "You must think me a ridiculous coward."

"Of course not," he said, and she heard the sincerity in his voice. "Am I right in thinking that was nearly your first time on a horse?"

"It was my third."

"Then I'm only sorry I let that happen. We shouldn't have gone so far from the stables."

She nodded. "I'm quite all right, though." But her hands were still shaking, and she felt him shift towards her and draw her closer. She moved willingly to lean against him, her head against his chest, and her heartrate and her breathing slowly steadied as he held her.

She could love this man, she thought suddenly as he stroked a tentative hand up and down her back. It had now been two weeks since she had last seen Andrew, and with the traveling they had done and the many families they had met since London, it seemed like several months. He was becoming a fond, distant memory, as she knew he would have to be. Nor had there been any letters from him—she had written the morning she'd left the capital, but she'd received nothing in return, an outcome she'd blamed on the irregular post in the countryside.

Robert Crawley, on the other hand, was here in front of her. And while he lacked the romantic passion of Andrew Marks—he had not tried to kiss her, and she doubted that he would—he was kind and gentle and fun and warm and, while she knew he wanted and needed her money, he did seem to care for her.

"We should be getting back," he said at last. "They'll be expecting us soon for luncheon."

She nodded as she stepped away, looking with trepidation at the horse. "Have we come very far?" she asked casually. Perhaps she could just walk, and lead the blasted creature behind her…

"It's too far to walk," he said, reading her thoughts. "I'll take you on my horse and send a man back for yours."

He helped her up onto his horse and then climbed on behind her, taking the reins in one hand and wrapping the other arm securely around her waist.

* * *

The next two days were surprisingly fun, with Lord Downton—or Robert, as he had told her to call him—winking at her as they watched their mothers engage in verbal joust after verbal joust. Cora found she liked the family—Lord Grantham was a dear old man; Lady Rosamund, a sweet, slightly wild-seeming girl who Cora thought would be likely to congratulate her on her exploits two weeks previously, should they ever be close enough to discuss it; and she even suspected she could come to like Lady Grantham, who seemed to be something of an acquired taste. And she liked Robert himself more and more as they strolled through the gardens (there were no further mentions of riding) and toured the old abbey.

Cora woke up on Tuesday morning, prepared to depart for the rooms she and her mother had taken at a nearby lodge before the house party scheduled to begin at Waddleston Hall in a few days. She was in quite a good mood—Robert had not proposed yet, but it was too early, and she was sure he would in the next few weeks—until she spotted the cloth pad that Griffin had laid on the bedside table.

"I expect you'll need that today, miss," her maid said, following her gaze.

"Has it been four weeks already?" Cora asked.

Griffin nodded. "Yes, miss. To the day."

Cora had always been as regular as a clock, so she did not doubt her maid's prediction, and she sighed, dreading the process. She did think it was odd that she had not felt the stomach cramps that usually preceded her bleeding by a day or two, but she shrugged it off merely as good luck that she had not been forced to spend part of her stay at Downton curled up with a hot water bottle.

And when she did not bleed at all that day, or the next, she shrugged that off, too. With a long ocean voyage and the other stresses of travel, perhaps her cycle was delayed. She'd come halfway around the world; it would make sense for her body to be a bit off.


	4. Chapter 4

"Ow!" Cora winced as Griffin pulled her corset tightly as she dressed for dinner on the third night of the Waddleston Hall house party.

"I'm sorry, miss!" Griffin dropped the strings immediately. "It didn't seem too tight to me—"

"It isn't," Cora said. "It's just that the pressure was hurting my chest." It was an odd complaint, she knew—her stomach and her ribs were fine, and that was where one usually felt the pressure of a tight corset. But in place of the monthly bleeding she had now waited a full week for, she'd felt her breasts grow increasingly tender, to the point where any pressure was painful.

Griffin frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I'm not certain…it's strange, but my breasts are oddly sore. I'm not sure what it is; I've never felt it before."

"And you still have not bled." It was not a question—it was a lady's maid's responsibility to rinse and wash the cloth pads, so Griffin knew well that her mistress's bleeding had not begun.

"Do you think it's connected?" Cora asked. She was eager for an explanation for the absent bleeding. She knew women did not bleed when they were pregnant, and so she had briefly wondered if her intimacy with Andrew Marks had gotten her with child, but she had dismissed the suspicion on the grounds that once was simply not enough. His claims had made a great deal of sense—none of the women she knew had had babies exactly nine months after their weddings. And so she had told herself it was not possible, but she was desperate for outside confirmation.

Griffin did not answer her directly, instead beginning to unlace the corset. "Let me see your chest please, miss."

Cora pulled the garment away from her body and then wiggled out of one of the sleeves of her shift so that she could expose her right breast.

"It seems a bit swollen," Griffin said after gazing at her for a moment.

"I'm not sure why that would be," Cora said. Her maid was chewing her bottom lip in a way that troubled her immensely.

"How have you felt lately, miss?"

"Fine…a bit tired, but I suppose that's to be expected. We're in a different place every three nights, and all the traveling…"

"I've noticed you seemed tired," Griffin said quietly.

"Griffin, do you think there's something wrong with me? I wish you'd say so if you do."

There was a moment's silence, and Cora covered herself again, suddenly oddly uncomfortable under the gaze of the woman who had seen her naked countless times. At last, her maid said, "I'm not sure it's my place to suggest this, miss."

Cora's breath caught in her throat. Did Griffin think her pregnant? She knew her maid—a woman a good twenty years her senior—had boasted in her interview two years earlier that she'd seen her previous lady through five successful pregnancies. She would surely know the signs.

"Have you…been with a _man_ , Miss Levinson?" Griffin blurted out suddenly, her face bright red with embarrassment at the suggestion.

It was the only confirmation Cora needed, and she burst into tears. "I've ruined my _life_ ," she sobbed as her maid took her arm and guided her to sit down on the bed.

"Shh, miss," Griffin murmured. "It's not so bad as all that. Let's talk this over and see what we can do."

Cora allowed herself the indulgence of a few more moments of tears before she forced herself to steady her breathing. "I was intimate with Mr. Marks a couple weeks ago in London," she whispered as she wiped her eyes.

"Whatever did you do that for? You weren't even hoping to marry him! Did he…force himself on you?"

Cora shook her head. "No," she said miserably. "He was the one who suggested it, but I went willingly."

"Did you not _think_ what a mess it would be if there was a _baby_ , miss?" Griffin's voice was not unkind, but that somehow made the obvious questions all the more painful.

"He told me there couldn't be. He said I couldn't get pregnant my first time—"

"Good _heavens_ , miss! Do you know _nothing_? Of course you can pregnant your first time! Whyever _wouldn't_ you be able to? Your womb doesn't know the difference!" Griffin shook her head incredulously. "I thought everyone knew that. I'm certain your _Mr. Marks_ knows that."

Cora lowered her eyes, unwilling to acknowledge that he could have knowingly lied to her.

"And I simply—I don't mean to be unkind, miss, but I simply can't understand why you agreed to sleep with him in the first place! Hasn't your mother ever warned you against the kind of men who have their hands all over the place and who are too free with their kisses?"

It was, of course, an exact description of Andrew Marks, and she felt tears threaten again at the realization that no one had ever warned her about anything. It seemed so very unfair that she had known so very little and that her ignorance had cost her so very much.

"You won't tell anyone, will you?" Cora begged. "I couldn't bear it if my mother knew—"

"I won't tell her, miss, but as it stands now it will evidence itself in a few months' time, regardless."

"What am I—what am I to _do_?" It was an answerless question, she knew, and an unfair one to push off on her maid, but all power to think for herself seemed to have momentarily abandoned her.

"There's not much you can do, miss," Griffin said. "You can write to Mr. Marks and see what kind of provisions he can make for you—if he's got a shred of honor, he'll marry you."

Cora nodded slowly. "I'll write to him," she whispered. She did not doubt that he would marry her: he loved her; that much had seemed clear, and he had murmured it time and time again as they'd lain in bed together. But, as much as she loved him (or _had_ loved him—she guiltily realized that she barely thought of him anymore), she did not want to be the wife of a wealthy Londoner; she wanted to be a countess, she wanted to marry…well, Robert Crawley. He occupied far more of her thoughts than did Andrew.

Nor did she want to give birth to a baby less than nine months after she was married. It would be winked at, she knew, as long as the child were born in wedlock, but it would mean a hurried wedding and a whisper of scandal that would follow her the rest of her life.

"That's Mrs. Andrew Marks," she could hear the gossips saying. "Came here to marry into the aristocracy like all those other American girls…but she married Marks instead, and nobody quite understood why until she delivered a nine-pound baby eight months later."

"Shall I get you some writing paper, miss?" Griffin said, interrupting her thoughts. "Or would you rather dress and go down to dinner, and handle this later tonight or tomorrow?"

"Dress me, please," Cora whispered, standing. "I can't write him tonight."


	5. Chapter 5

_Dear Miss Levinson,_

 _I received your letter of the twelfth containing your recent news, and while I appreciate the information, I fail to see how I can be of assistance. I do not doubt that the situation is distressing to you, but I wish to make myself perfectly clear that there is nothing neither my wife nor I can do for you._

 _I hope that you will be able to take care of this matter quickly, and I wish you a pleasant stay in England._

 _Sincerely,_

 _A. Marks_

Cora had snatched the letter eagerly at breakfast and darted from the table, ignoring the raised eyebrows and knowing smiles of the other guests, so that she could read it in the privacy of her bedroom. She had been immensely relieved at so quick a response, reading Andrew's speed as concern and intention to cover the scandal with an immediate wedding.

And then, of course, she had opened it. Hot tears were coursing down her face as she leaned against her door—not so much tears of grief over Andrew, for it had finally crystallized how little there had ever been between them, but tears of hurt at how cruelly she had been used and of anger at the mess she had been so carelessly left in. And—good _God_ —he was _married_.

Cora was angry at herself, too, for her own breathtaking stupidity. A few short weeks ago she had been a rich, beautiful young heiress with the world at her feet, and then she had chosen to exchange a half-hour's pleasure for a lifetime of ruin. How had such a risky equation ever seemed like a good idea?

"You're a damn fool, Cora," she whispered. "A _damn fool_."

There had been an unpleasant swirling in her stomach since she'd sat down to breakfast, but when she opened her mouth to speak, she realized she could ignore it no longer. She hurried to the washroom, making it just in time to throw up the few bites of eggs she'd swallowed before the arrival of the morning post. When she was finished, she laid her head on the side of the toilet, breathing hard. She was still quite nauseous, but her stomach was empty now.

This new symptom brought home the fact of her pregnancy more than any missed bleeding or tender breasts or fatigue ever could: there was a baby growing inside of her, and grow it would until her condition was readily apparent to anyone with eyes. She needed…some sort of a plan.

She was not getting married, obviously. Not now, and not ever. A child out of wedlock would forever brand her an unfit wife, and it was not merely that she would not have the match she'd imagined; she wouldn't have any match at all. She had money, fortunately, and as angry and disappointed as her parents would certainly be, she and her baby would never go hungry or homeless. But it would be an odd sort of life, on the fringes of society, as she raised her child alone as an outcast in New York, while all her former friends and acquaintances whispered about the Levinson daughter who'd gone to England to marry an earl and come home pregnant.

Slowly—her stomach seemed to have settled slightly—Cora eased herself off the bathroom floor. The movement made the room spin, and she gripped the sink until her vision was steady again and then crept to the bell pull for Griffin before curling up on the bed.

Her maid arrived quickly, a cool, damp cloth already in her hand. "I thought you might be unwell, miss," she said softly as she laid it across Cora's forehead. "Have you eaten anything?"

"Only some eggs that I couldn't keep down, but—"

"Then I'll go and bring you a tray of toast. There's nothing better for a woman who's sick from a baby."

She felt a new emptiness as she watched Griffin go, thinking of her maid's last mistress and her five children. She'd likely lain in bed too and been soothed the same way, and yet the ring around the other lady's finger had made their situations miles apart.

"Mr. Marks wrote," she said when Griffin returned. "He won't have anything to do with this."

"He won't marry you?"

She shook her head, tears pricking her eyes again. "He's already married," she said as the first slipped out to snake down her cheek.

"The filthy _bastard_ ," Griffin breathed, and Cora flinched at hearing her very proper maid use such language.

"I apologize, miss," Griffin said immediately. "I forgot myself." But it was suddenly so unexpected as to be funny, and Cora laughed through her tears.

Her laughter did not last long. "I don't know what I'll do with myself…"

"Well, you'll start by eating that toast, miss. I know you don't feel like eating, but you won't feel any better until you do, and there's no sense in your feeling sick while we discuss this."

Griffin was quite right that the last thing Cora felt like doing was eating, but she also turned out to be quite right that it did make her feel better. She was suddenly ravenous once she began, and she was quickly sitting up and polishing off the stack of bread that had looked impossibly tall a few minutes earlier.

"Now, what do you plan to do with this baby, miss?"

"I suppose I'll go back to New York and have it there. And then I'll just…raise it." She could articulate nothing beyond that, so far was the idea from anything she'd ever planned for her life. "I don't think there's anything else I _can_ do with it."

Griffin was silent for a moment. "There is, miss. You don't have to have it at all, if you don't want."

Cora stiffened with horror. She'd heard of such things, of black market potions you could drink to induce a miscarriage, or procedures that could be done on pregnant women. They were both highly illegal and extremely dangerous, and of course you never knew what you were buying or what sort of "doctor" you were entrusting yourself to. She could not imagine what sort of damage might be inflicted on the rest of her body—suppose she were left infertile? Or even dead?

Nor could she imagine what sort of damage such an act would do to her conscience and to her soul. She would be taking her own child's life—for she already thought of the being inside of her as a living baby. She would rather live with the outward black mark of a child born out of wedlock than the internal scar of a child dead at her own hand. She had caused enough ruin by the first wrong she'd done. She would not be persuaded to do another.

"No, no," she said quickly. "I don't want that. I'm going to have this baby."

Griffin nodded, her relief evident. "I'm glad, miss. It's neither safe nor legal, and I don't know what I'd tell Mrs. Levinson if it went wrong." She paused. "But you haven't got to raise the child yourself. No one but your mother would even need to know. There are places you could go…places that take young women in your situation and help them deliver their babies, and then they find homes for the children. Usually with couples who can't have children of their own. You could do that, and you'd know your baby would have a loving family and a good life, and you could go on with your own."

It was tempting to think that she might easily wash her hands of this, might go away with her mother and Griffin when she began to show, and then a few months later be free of it all, placing her newborn in another woman's arms and returning to society as though nothing had ever happened. But it was that image—of herself holding an infant, perhaps with her own eyes and a lock of dark hair like her own, and then passing it off to someone else—that made her heart seize in terror. Cora loved babies, and she had looked forward to marriage and children throughout her youth. As inconvenient as this child was, and as little as she wanted this pregnancy, she could not believe that she could carry a child in her body, tucked beneath her heart, for nine months, and then willingly give it up. She knew it might be selfish—certainly a married couple who longed for children could give her baby a better life than it would have with the stigma it would inherit from her—but she could not bear the violence an adoption would visit upon her own heart.

"No," she said quietly. "I don't think I could do that either."

"I don't doubt it would be painful, miss," Griffin said, "but are you really ready to raise a child on your own?"

"I…I wonder if I might marry," Cora said slowly, an idea taking shape in her mind.

"But you said Mr. Marks was already married, miss."

"I don't mean him. I mean, marry an aristocrat, like I'd intended to do."

Griffin shook her head sadly. "It's a harsh thing, miss, but I don't imagine any of the earls would take you now. You can't very well go back to Lord Downton and tell him you're pregnant with another man's child but want to marry him anyway. Nor would it be a good idea to hide it until you're wed—he could divorce you then, and then you'd be in a worse mess."

"No, not Lord Downton," Cora said, feeling the pull in her heart as she buried the affection that had begun to stir for him. "Not an earl. My money would have got an earl, but not without my virtue, and not when he'd be forced to pass off someone else's child as his own. But I wonder…do you think a baron would marry me?"

Griffin frowned. Barons were the lowest-ranking of British aristocrats and not generally targets for American heiresses, unless the woman in question had comparatively little money. "A baron, miss?"

Cora nodded, warming to the idea. "Yes. Don't you think he might be so glad to get so much money that he'd accept a ruined woman and her child?"

The maid chewed her lip thoughtfully. "I think it's plausible, miss. I do think it's plausible."


	6. Chapter 6

Cora was determined to find a baron whose eyes would grow wide at the offer of far more fortune than his title could be worth, but they had been few and far between at the events she had attended thus far, and she could hardly tell her mother that she wanted to go places where she could meet more low-ranking men. And so she was ecstatic the next week when she and her mother arrived at a house party at Forde Abbey and were soon introduced to "the Lord Montville"—the inclusion of "the" before his name indicating that he was a baron. He was, however, at least in his mid-thirties, and thus Cora prayed he was not already married.

He was not, she learned after inquiring as to whether "Lady Montville" was joining them. There had been a Lady Montville, but she had died six years earlier giving birth to—and here Cora caught her breath—the couple's only child, a son who was now at home at the family seat.

 _He had a son._ And thus he had no reason to fear the gender of her unborn child—it might be a boy, but he would not be forced to make him his heir.

"Where is your family seat, my lord?" she asked.

"Bonython is in the south, in the southwest corner—near Cornwall," he said. "I don't suppose you've ever been there?"

"No sir, but I am eager to see more of the country," she replied. "I'd quite like to see the southwest." Both Lord Montville and her mother raised their eyebrows, and she knew she was being forward in fishing for an invitation. But she must be forward—the clock was ticking, and she wanted her marriage done in the next few weeks.

And then she heard the last words she'd expected to hear. "Ah, my lord Downton!" Martha called out. "I didn't know you were attending!"

Cora spun around to see Robert Crawley enter Forde's vast library. How pleased he looked to lay eyes on her—and how pleased she would have been a week ago at his smile. Yet now she dropped her eyes and turned back to Lord Montville, making the instant decision to snub Robert for the remainder of her stay. If she carried on with him, she knew he would propose soon, and she could not bear the thought of having to refuse. Better to push him away.

"Tell me more of Cornwall, my lord," she said, and hung on the baron's every word as he talked of his estate.

At dinner she was seated between an earl and a viscount—consideration on her host's part, she was sure, of who would be an appropriate match for her—but she made no great effort at conversing with either. Afterwards she waited impatiently in the drawing room for the men to come through, preparing to step forward and take Lord Montville's arm, yet she was foiled in this by the immediate attentions of the Viscount Downton, who seized her at once when the men arrived.

"I missed having the opportunity to talk with you this afternoon…Cora," he said, leaning close to whisper the first name he'd begun to use when she'd stayed at his home.

"I'm sorry, my lord," she said, returning his familiarity with formality. "I must not have seen you. Lord Montville had me quite interested in his home county."

He gave her an odd look in response to her distant manner. "Well, I hope we'll be able to see more of each other over the next few days. Would you like—"

"Excuse me, my lord. I think I may try a glass of the punch…" She moved to approach the footman who was on the other side of the room with a tray, but Robert pressed her arm.

"Oh no, I'll get it for you. Please…" And he was off before she could detain him without a level of rudeness that would have been truly bizarre.

"Thank you," she said, accepting the glass and taking a sip. She hadn't really wanted it; she'd meant only to get away from him, and now that she was drinking it, she found that its thick sweetness only aggravated the queasiness that was with her day and night. She could not keep from grimacing as she forced a second swallow down.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

A perfect opening, if ever there was one. "Actually, Lord Downton, I've got a bit of a headache. The journey here, I'm sure. If you'll excuse me…"

"Of course." He made a slight bow, and she read the relief in his face—he must take her headache as the reason for her coldness. "I hope you rest well and are quite better in the morning, Miss Levinson."

The sweet compassion in his voice and his eyes nearly brought on the tears that she was always fighting lately, and she did not trust herself to speak. With a quick nod, she set her drink on a side table and hurried from the room.

* * *

She was more tired than she'd thought, she realized when she reached her bedroom, and she was grateful to sink into the chair at her dressing table to rest for a moment before ringing for Griffin. The combination of pregnancy and constant movement from strange house to strange house was a thoroughly exhausting one, and she had closed her eyes, her head in her hands, when she heard the door burst open behind her.

"Cora _Levinson_! What on _earth_ are you playing at?"

Cora turned to see her mother in the doorway, looking like a general ready to charge into battle. Before she could respond, Martha went on.

"You spend the afternoon ignoring Lord Downton—who I think would be likely to make you an offer if you'd give him the opportunity, and what a fine offer it would be!—so you can talk to some blasted baron. And then when you have Downton all to yourself after dinner, you dart off for an early night! This, after you spend all that time in London with that useless Mr. What's-his-name—"

Cora winced at the mention of Andrew Marks. "Mama, I was tired. I wanted to come upstairs."

"Cora, we are not here so you can get extra beauty sleep! Lord Downton—"

"Please, Mama, I have a headache—"

"And did your headache prevent you from speaking with Downton this afternoon?"

"Lord Montville was talking to me, and he seemed like a very nice man. I didn't want to be rude." It was a strange thing to say, she mused. She did not know Montville well enough to think whether he seemed nice or not, but, for the first time in her life when weighing a suitor, she did not care. She hoped he was a kind man, but she knew she'd be better off married to a monster than attempting to raise her baby alone in New York.

"Cora, do you not understand what we are here to do? This isn't a game; this isn't an opportunity for you to enjoy flirtations with whomever strikes your fancy. This is the rest of your life, Cora!"

 _Ah yes,_ she thought, _the rest of my life._ The mess that was the rest of her life was so central in her thoughts and her actions at the moment that her mother's reminder would have been funny in another world.

But nothing was funny anymore. Certainly not tonight, when she was tired and nauseous and achy and she had been forced to push Robert away. Cora closed her eyes in defeat.

"I know, Mama. I know. Will you please leave me to sleep? I really do have headache."

Martha came closer and bent to kiss Cora's forehead, her anger dissolving as usual at the moment of her opponent's capitulation. "Of course, sweetie. Have Griffin bring you a powder, and then get to bed. I'll see you in the morning."


	7. Chapter 7

The next morning, Cora was pleased to encounter Lord Montville on the central staircase on her way down to breakfast. "Good morning, my lord!" she called out, hurrying to catch up with him.

He smiled, but he gave her a look that indicated he found her exuberance rather odd. "Good morning, Miss Levinson."

"It's wonderfully sunny," she went on. "Shall we take a walk together after breakfast?"

Lord Montville, who, like most men, had never had a woman ask to spend time with him—that was _his_ role—merely stared at her. "If it would please you," he said, his tone almost questioning.

"Oh, it would, sir, it would," she said enthusiastically.

Cora was aware of how desperate she must seem—as well as the fact that she was coming across as halfway to lunacy—and the humiliation of it made her cheeks burn. But she was determined to lock down an engagement by the end of her stay at Forde Abbey, and she had a mere three days in which to do it.

She and Montville entered the dining room, and she steeled herself when she spotted Robert Crawley serving himself from the buffet table. He smiled warmly and came to her immediately.

"You're looking quite well, Miss Levinson. I trust your headache has gone?"

"It has, thank you." She glanced to her side for an escape, only to realize that Montville had already stepped away to choose a seat.

"I'm glad to hear it. Would you like to view the gardens together this morning?"

She felt a hollowness in her chest at having to turn him down. "No, my lord, I'll be walking with Lord Montville after breakfast," she said, deliberately not thanking him for the invitation. It would be so much easier if he would just leave her _alone_.

He looked a bit disappointed but pushed on. "This afternoon, then?"

"I'll see what the others have planned," she said, moving away.

The walk with Montville was dull—she was beginning to discover that he was not a fascinating or talkative man—but he did seem to be taking pleasure in her obvious interest. And fortunately, Robert seemed to have taken the hint and did not press her to spend the afternoon with him when they met again at luncheon. She made plans that involved no one but herself and stole away to her room for one of the naps her body had begun to crave.

There was dancing after dinner, and when Lord Montville, whose confidence in the affections of a woman who should have been far above his level was clearly growing, asked for two dances, she eagerly told him he could have twice that. And when Robert, with hesitation in his eyes, asked for one, she told him her card was quite full and that he would do better to ask someone else. She saw the hurt written clearly on his face as he took the full meaning of her words, and she felt her own heart mirror it as he walked away.

The night before the party was to break up, Cora drew Montville away from the drawing room and into the library. She knew he would not be so confident as to propose this early, so she meant to do it for him. "My lord Montville," she began, "I suspect you're aware that I have great affection for you."

Montville's eyebrows practically disappeared into his hairline.

"And I have been very much hoping that we might marry," she continued.

"Is this how it's done, in America?" he interrupted. She was not sure whether he meant it as sarcasm, and she was not sure _he_ knew, either. "Ladies propose to gentlemen?"

"No, but I must be honest and tell you my reasons. My lord, I am…with child—"

"Good _God_!" he almost shouted, and Cora held up a hand for silence.

"I am with child," she repeated, "and thus I must be married soon. I am aware that this shocks you greatly—" Montville made an appalled scoffing noise, but she ignored it— "and I cannot tell you how bitterly I regret the actions that led to my condition, but what's been done has been done. And now I must be wed—"

"And what gives you the impression you have any right to expect marriage from anyone? Much less from myself? I am shocked, Miss Levinson, that you would imagine—"

"I know I have no right to expect that you would marry me. I am throwing myself on your mercy, my lord. You would have my endless gratitude if you would take pity on me and on this child, and raise it as your own—"

" _Raise it as my own?_ Have you taken leave of your senses?"

"If we married, surely you would prefer the world think you had got me with child yourself, and done the honorable thing in marrying me, than let everyone know you'd married a woman who was already pregnant by another man?"

"I would not marry such a woman in the first place. I repeat that I do not _want_ to take a ruined woman as my wife, and risk having some other man's bastard for my second in line if you deliver a son!"

Almost without thinking, she laid her hand against her stomach, as though to block the word from her child's ears. The gesture seemed to repulse him, and he took a step back.

"I have two million American dollars," she said suddenly. "I imagine that's more than you thought?" Montville made a strangled sort of noise, confirming that it was. "My dowry would be fully in your control once we married, yours to do with as you like. Please, sir. I can show you my gratitude no more clearly than with that."

There was a long silence, and Cora knew better than to break it herself. She had made her case and played her trump card, and her future was now in his hands and dependent on his mercy. He walked slowly away from her to lean against the mantel and stare into the fire—for five minutes or for five hours, she was not sure.

"I know at least that you are fertile," he finally said. "You've managed to guarantee what's always an unknown in a marriage. For God's sake; it took the first Lady Montville _years_ to fall pregnant. I'd begun to think she never would."

"I can promise you a baby just a few months after the wedding," Cora said quietly. "And I imagine I'll be able to bear a long string of your own children after that."

"They had damn well better be my own children," he snarled. "How do I know a woman like you won't run out on me as soon as we're wed?"

She shook her head, not bothering to fight back the tears that she knew would show her sincerity. "I will never go near a man I am not married to, ever again. Not after this."

He nodded slowly, considering. "Very well," he said at last. "I will take you as my wife, and your bastard as my second-born."

"Thank you," she whispered, trying not to sob with relief. "Oh, _thank you_!"


	8. Chapter 8

Marriage to a baron—marriage to anyone, at this point—was what Cora had been desperate for, and thus she expected to go to bed happy after Lord Montville had agreed to the wedding. Yet she was nothing short of heartbroken when she lay down that night.

None of this was what she had envisioned or planned for her life. She had never thought she'd practically beg a man on her knees to marry her—in fact, she'd rather hoped someone might fall enough in love with her to beg for _her_ hand. Nor had she expected a husband who resented her, who saw her as a ruined mess he was loathe to take on. And she certainly had not pictured feeling such misery, rather than joy, at her first pregnancy.

"It's going to be all right," she said to her belly, stroking her hand over the slightly curved inch that had appeared at her waist. "You'll have a father, and I'll have a husband."

But somehow, neither of those was consolation enough.

In spite of her usual exhaustion, sleep did not come easily that night, and she went down to breakfast in the morning tired and wretchedly miserable. Lord Montville—Cora realized with alarm that she did not even know his first name—had promised to announce their engagement over the next day's luncheon, when the party would be assembled in advance of everyone's departure, and thus she idly counted the hours, feeling neither anticipation nor dread. She said nothing to her mother and tried not to think of how angry Martha Levinson would be.

Noon came eventually, and Lord Montville cleared his throat as soon as the first course was served. "I have wonderfully happy news to share this afternoon," he began as the other guests fell silent. "Yesterday evening, Miss Levinson consented—" he glanced at Cora, and she could see a glint of sarcasm in his eyes— "to be my wife."

There were cries of, "Hear, hear," and polite cheers from the assembled guests. Cora, however, was aware of only two things: the thunderous rage on her mother's face, and the look of disappointment and confusion on Robert Crawley's.

* * *

"Miss Levinson, I know you think this forward, but…why? Why are you doing this?" Robert had drawn her into a side room as the carriages were being loaded, and when she did not answer, he continued. "I…I don't understand what's happened. I'd thought…I'd thought you understood that I…have I offended you? Please tell me what's gone wrong."

"No, Robert," she said, his first name slipping out. "I give you my word that it was nothing you've said or done!" She paused. If only she'd met the viscount before she'd ever known Andrew Marks. If only Robert had been in London, or if only she and her mother hadn't stopped in the capital at all. "It's only…it's too late."

"Because Montville's asked now," he said flatly. "Oh, I wish to God I'd just asked you when you were at Downton!"

 _And then I would have had to take back my acceptance a week later._ Cora shook her head. "No, not even then. It's always been too late for us. Please, Lord Downton…my mother will be waiting."

And she swept from the room, praying a life in the south of England would mean she never had to see the Viscount Downton again.

* * *

She found Lord Montville outside, supervising the loading of his bags. He gave her a nod that was neither pleased nor resentful as she approached. "Cora."

"I'm glad I caught you before you left, my lord," she said with a smile he did not return. He had not given her permission to use his own first name, and she knew she was far too greatly in his debt to be anything less than deferential. "I wanted to ask—do you wish my mother and me to follow you to Bonython?"

"Whyever would you do that?"

She refused to let her smile falter. "Well, I presume you wish to introduce us to—"

"You presume too much. I do not wish to introduce you to anyone at all."

She swallowed, trying to ignore the sting. "Yes, sir. Where would you prefer for us to go?"

He shrugged. "Wherever you wish. Wherever you had planned to go had we not become engaged last night. I gathered this was all a surprise to your mother, so surely she has an agenda?"

"Yes, sir. She does."

"Good. I'll send for you when everything is ready."

"If I may ask, my lord…when will we be wed?" He had said nothing about dates, and it was the question at the very forefront of her mind.

"Good God, woman! I've not even left for home yet. I need time to return to Bonython, and to speak with the staff and with my own relations, and to see the vicar, and—"

"But it will be soon? I'd rather not delay—"

He scowled. "Yes, I grasp that, Cora. And I'd rather you didn't go down the aisle showing, either. It will be soon enough! You're only a month along; you've got awhile yet."

She would prefer to be married before she was another month gone—she thought a baby born seven months later might be overlooked, but anything else would be noticeably short—and yet she knew this was not the moment to push her luck, and so she nodded meekly. "Yes, sir."

"Ready, your lordship," called the footman who had loaded the cases.

Montville nodded to her. "Keep me informed of your addresses." And he was off.


	9. Chapter 9

The next several weeks were a whirlwind of house parties and balls and rushing about the northern third of England: Martha Levinson, who had been most frustrated to see her daughter pledging her hand to a mere baron, refused to accept Cora's decision as a final one, and her solution was to drag her daughter from house to house in hopes that someone higher ranking would catch her eye. It was an ordeal that was made nothing short of hellish by the fact that Cora was physically quite miserable. The further she went in her pregnancy, the more nauseous she was, and none of Griffin's remedies could ease it. There were days when she could barely hold anything in her stomach, and she could not quite believe her maid when Griffin told her that this stage would not last forever. She was also more tired than she would have thought possible, and there were mornings when she nearly cried from exhaustion when she woke.

Her body ached, too, with a dull pain often settling in her hips by the end of the day, especially when she was expected to dance for hours at balls. Griffin blamed it on the shifting in her body as it prepared to give birth in the coming months, but there was also an ache in her sides and her stomach, and Cora knew that was not natural—that she was causing herself.

A couple firm inches had added themselves to her belly, but Cora knew she was not showing in any way that would be visible to others. Yet she knew that removing her corset would itself be readily apparent, and she did not want the attention it would draw. The corset was hurting her, and she feared it would hurt the baby, and her maid kept telling her she ought not to wear it, but she could not see how she had any choice.

Through all this, of course, she kept up a hectic pace of social events and travel that would have been tiring were she _not_ pregnant. In later years, she would miscarry two babies as a married lady, a time when the first signs of pregnancy meant she could put her feet up immediately as her husband and a houseful of servants catered to her every whim. She would wonder then how this first child had ever hung on so stubbornly in the midst of all this, and then she would consider the child's character and think its determination in the womb was perhaps not so odd.

Of course, Cora was supposed to have been Lady Montville by now. When she had departed from Forde Abbey the day her engagement had been announced, she thought two weeks would pass at the most before her fiancé sent for her. And yet his letters made clear that he saw no urgency in the matter; in fact, he would rather wait at least two months to give their wedding the appearance of normalcy. "There wouldn't have been a full nine months between the honeymoon and the birth regardless," he reasoned. But Cora was in a panic to have it done—she could not bear the humiliation of being visibly pregnant at the wedding, and she had hoped that an eight- or even seven-month gap might escape society's attention or let her pass the baby off as early. Yet she knew that a mere five- or six-month gap would be noticed by even the most unobservant. On top of these worries, she simply wanted to be able to let the world know she was pregnant so that she would be justified in resting or passing on a dance. Was it really so much to ask to be allowed to stay in bed for an extra hour in the mornings, or to sit out a dance when she didn't feel well?

Eventually, she received another letter from Lord Montville informing her that he intended to attend a house party at Downton Abbey at the end of June and thought that, as his fiancée, she ought to be with him if he appeared at a social occasion. He was sure the Crawleys would have no objection—she had met Robert Crawley when they were all at Forde, hadn't she?

Cora swallowed hard as she read the words. She did not want to see Robert again, certainly not now, but she was desperate to press Montville in person—by late June, she would be into her third month, and surely he would see that they could not wait much longer. And so she wrote back with a promise to meet him at Downton.

* * *

"I wanted to let you know that I have a date set for the wedding," Lord Montville said. He had drawn her into the library on the night of both of their arrivals at Downton Abbey. "We're to be married on the thirtieth of July."

Cora felt her heart climb into her throat. Another full month? "Can it be no sooner, my lord? I was hoping…next week perhaps, certainly no longer than the week after…"

"What difference does it make, Cora? You're not showing yet; you won't be much bigger in another four or five weeks."

"I'm having the baby in six months," she said. "I was hoping it wouldn't be any less than seven months after the wedding, but five is barely anything at all, and—"

"Six months and five are practically the same thing. Everyone will know you were with child when we married, regardless."

She bit her lip, knowing the truth of his words. "But there's also…I'm still wearing my corset," she said, feeling her face turn bright red, "because it would raise too many questions if I weren't, and I'm afraid…I'm afraid that's not good for the baby."

"What, are you afraid to lose it?" he scoffed, and she looked away. She was, in fact. She knew everything would be infinitely easier if she did, knew that her life could return to normal if she miscarried, but the little being within her had somehow wrapped its still-unformed fingers around her heart, and she did not think she could bear for it to die.

"Why—why has there been such a delay?" she asked, suddenly angry. "Why aren't we already married? What have you been waiting for?"

"I told you in my letters," he said coldly. "I didn't want a wedding amidst scandal—"

"But the birth will be amidst scandal—"

"That's your affair, not mine. With a wedding this far from the conception, I doubt anyone's going to blame the baby on me. They'll all see you for the slut you are, and it will be clear that I was simply gallant enough to step in and save you."

Cora gritted her teeth, willing herself not to cry at his words. "If that's your aim, you will achieve it with a birth six months after the wedding. What purpose does it serve to wait until the end of July?"

"Because that is what I wish, Cora. I have decided to marry you on 30 July. That is the date I have chosen, and that is what I will do."

"You're not being _fair_ ," she burst out, and she knew instantly that she had overstepped the mark.

"I'm not being fair, am I?" he almost whispered, his voice dangerously low, and she took a step back from him, but he took two steps toward her. "If you like, you may go and try your luck with another man. Make your dirty confession to whomever you like, Cora. But if you'd prefer to stay and enjoy my good graces—and I think you do, since time is of such concern to you—then you'll do as I say and not question it."

Something in his manner had made her suddenly fearful, and she glanced at the library door, wishing she had not shut it to ensure the privacy she now feared. She took another step backward, and his eyes flashed in anger at her movement. He covered the distance between them in one broad stride and pushed her backward against the bookcase.

She braced herself, waiting for a blow, but it did not come. "Know this, Cora," he breathed, their faces inches apart. "You have given me the power to ruin you completely, and _I will do it_ if you try my patience. I don't have to have your money; I can walk away at any time and announce to the world that I found your virtue lacking, or I can marry you and then divorce you and leave you to wallow in your own scandal. I am not in your power; you are in mine, and I am saving _you_. You had better not forget any of that. Do you understand?"

She was too terrified to answer with any more than a frightened squeak, and he shook her in anger. "Answer me, dammit!" He had one hand on her right shoulder and the other on her left wrist, and when she did not speak, he twisted her wrist sharply, and she cried out at the pain.

"You're hurting me! Let go, please!"

The second sentence was not fully out of her mouth when the door to Downton's library was flung open to reveal Robert Crawley—who had not spoken to or even looked at her since she'd arrived that afternoon—his face a stony mask of anger and his blue eyes ice cold. "Miss Levinson told you to let her go," he growled.

Montville, who seemed as shocked at the intrusion as Cora was, did not move, and Robert stalked toward them. "I said, _let her go_."

Montville dropped his hands and Cora shrank away from him, cradling her throbbing wrist against her body. "She's my fiancée," he told Robert. "I'll deal with her as I see fit."

It was, of course, the worst thing he could possibly have said to another man who had hoped to marry her, and with a cry of rage, Robert struck him squarely in the mouth—Cora saw a small bit of white that might have been a tooth go flying—and sent him reeling.

She was briefly terrified at the thought of the brawl that would ensue, but then Montville stood, covering his bloody mouth with a handkerchief, and stared silently at Robert. The viscount matched his glare and, after a moment of heavy silence, spoke.

"I do not ever, ever want to hear that you have ever laid rough hands on Cora Levinson ever again," Robert said quietly. "Is that clear?"

Montville was quiet for a moment, and then he seemed to decide that neither the argument nor the woman was worth answering for. He stalked out of the library, slamming the door shut behind him.


	10. Chapter 10

"Are you all right, Miss Levinson?" Robert said, his voice soft, when Montville had gone.

She could not seem to get her breathing back to normal in order to speak, so she merely shook her head.

"Should I fetch you a doctor?"

She shook her head more violently at this. No, she did not want a doctor. She did not want any more made of this incident. She could feel in her body that her wrist was merely sprained, and that was nothing that would not heal.

"Please," Robert said, "your wrist—"

"No," she gasped at last. "No, it's not broken. I don't need a doctor. Please, I'll be all right."

She continued to gasp for breath, and he continued to stare at her, his gaze both sad and tender, and it almost hurt to look at him. She was not sure what to say—she knew she ought to thank him, but she could not find the words.

And then she felt a great sob rise into her throat and force its way out. It was followed by another, and another, and then there were tears, until she was standing in front of him in his library, bawling.

Robert came towards her and embraced her, bringing her head against his chest. "Oh, Cora," he breathed, and the warmth in the way he said her name only made her cry harder until she thought her own sobs would suffocate her.

So terribly much was wrong that she was not even sure why she was crying: whether it was because she'd just seen her only chance at marriage walk out the door, or because she'd realized what a hellish, brutal marriage it would have been, or because she'd been so frightened, or because she did not know what in heaven's name she would do now, or because for the hundredth time she had been reminded what a colossal mess she had made of her life, or because she was just so, so tired and miserable and now her wrist hurt, too. But it felt _good_ to cry, she realized slowly, to let go of the tears that had been building for weeks.

It also felt good to be held by Robert, to know that he at least did not hate her for her sin and understood now why she'd pushed him away. It reminded her of the time months ago when he had soothed her in the field after their horseback ride, back when life had been so much easier and she had feared something as simple as _height_.

She felt her knees begin to weaken as she sobbed, but before she could grab a better hold of him, he felt her start to slip and tightened his arms around her waist. "You're all right," he said. "I've got you." And she let him hold her upright as she cried some more.

At last her sobs began to slow, and her weeping turned to sniffling. "Let's sit down, Miss Levinson," he said softly, leading her to one of the couches.

She expected him to question her about Montville or the baby, for she was sure he had heard at least some of their conversation, but he did not. "Will you let me see your arm?" he asked instead, and she extended it to him.

"I'm sorry—this might hurt," he said, and she could hear in his voice that it pained him. He prodded her wrist gently and bent it slightly, drawing a whimper from her. "I'm sorry," he said quickly. "But you're right. It isn't broken." He stood and went to the bell pull, and a footman appeared a moment later.

"Yes, your lordship?" If the servant thought it was odd that one of the guests was seated on the couch, her eyes swollen from weeping, his face did not betray it.

"Miss Levinson has fallen," Robert said evenly. "Will you bring us some bandages and some ice?"

"Yes, my lord."

"Also, one of our guests will be leaving in the morning. Lord Montville has had a bit of family business come up. Please see that his bags are packed and he is ready to be taken to the station before breakfast."

"Yes, my lord," the young man said again, and then he nodded and left.

"What will your footman think?" she asked hoarsely.

"I don't care what the footman thinks," he said. "And you've nothing to fear from Charles regardless. He lives and breathes for this family."

Charles returned a moment later, and Robert sat back down and began to wrap her wrist. Now that she had recovered, her embarrassment at the entire situation was growing, and she looked down at his hands the entire time, too humiliated to glance up at his face. When he had finished, he took a pillow and set it on the couch between them, placed her wrist there, and then covered it with the ice the footman had wrapped in a towel.

"Thank you," she whispered, feeling the throbbing ease.

"I've never understood what sort of brute hurts a woman," he said quietly. "But to harm one who's with child takes another level of monster."

And with that, the elephant in the room could be avoided no longer.

"I hope you'll forgive my eavesdropping," he said. "I was passing the library, and I would have gone on when I heard voices, but then I realized it was you, and you said something about having a baby in six months. I can't deny it shocked me—it froze me in my tracks—and I couldn't help but listen to the rest of it."

She did not know what to say to this. She was mortified to think of the Viscount Downton hearing such an intimate conversation, but she was also deeply grateful that he had been there to step in, for she had had visions flash across her eyes of Montville striking her across the stomach.

When she did not respond, he went on. "Why are you marrying him?" he asked, his voice strained. "Why would you marry a man who hurts you and threatens to ruin you? It didn't even sound as though it was his baby."

Well, she wouldn't marry him now. She didn't know what she would do, but it would not be marry Lord Montville. "No, no," she said. "It isn't his baby. And I was only marrying him because he was…willing."

"Forgive me, Miss Levinson, but he didn't sound very willing."

She blushed and did not reply.

"What of the father? Will he not take responsibility?"

She shook her head. "He's married."

Robert's face clouded over, but he did not comment on her answer. "What happened?" he said after a moment. "Will you tell me what's happened?"

"I met a man when I first arrived in London, and he convinced me to…" She trailed off, unable to say the words in front of him.

"Who?" he interrupted sharply. "Who was this snake who seduced you?"

She hesitated, fearful after what she'd seen between him and Montville. "A Mr. Andrew Marks. Do you know him?"

"No, and he should hope for his own sake that I never do."

"We left London right afterwards," she went on. "My mother didn't know, and she brought me up here to Yorkshire—that's when you invited us to Downton the first time. And it was right after we left here that that I found out…about the baby. I wrote to Mr. Marks, and he told me he was married and could do nothing. So I decided that I must marry. I hadn't any virtue, of course, but I knew I still had some value in my fortune, even if I had less than before, and I thought a baron might take me because it would be a larger dowry than he might reasonably have expected."

"I think I've known cattle that had a greater sense of self-worth than all that conveys," he observed. It was not said unkindly, but she was not sure how to respond.

"I asked Lord Montville if he'd marry me, and he agreed," she continued. "I didn't _want_ to marry him—and I wanted it less and less the longer we were engaged—but I didn't have any other choices."

"What do you mean, Miss Levinson? You could have married me!"

Her head jerked up to meet his eyes for the first time since the conversation had begun. At first she took it for a cruel bit of sarcasm, but no—there was no jest in his expression. "I–I don't understand," she said.

"You could have married me," he repeated. "Didn't you understand, when you were last here, how I felt?"

"Yes, but that was before—"

"What has this changed? What, Cora? It wasn't your virtue that I'd fallen for."

"But you're…you're going to be an earl," she said, trying to restore some normalcy to the conversation. "You could find another heiress, someone who hasn't ruined herself—"

"There is nothing about you that is ruined," he said, leaning forward to lay a hand on her knee. "And I don't want another heiress—it wasn't your money I fell for, either. I want you, Cora. I've always wanted you."

"But–but I'm going to have a baby."

He smiled. "So you've said."

"Yes, but it—it isn't your baby."

Robert looked at her as though she were a half-wit. "It wasn't Montville's either."

"Yes, but he already has a son. He wouldn't have been risking having another man's child as his heir. Suppose I bear a son?"

"I thought about that," he said, and she could hear in his voice that he truly had. "But I'm not sure it would really matter to me that I wasn't the one who created this child. You would be my wife, and I would watch him grow inside of you and watch him grow up and be the only father he ever knew. I can't see what difference it makes whether or not I'd done the initial act. Do you think in the long line of earls of Grantham that there's never been an heir fathered by another man? Do you think in centuries of arranged marriages, that none have ever strayed and that it's the unbroken bloodline we'd all like to pretend? What I want most for my children is that you're their mother, and you would be."

At some point in this speech she had realized that he was serious, that he was not speaking of hypotheticals or of what could have been but of what he truly meant to do, and her tears began to flow again.

He seemed unsure how to take her reaction, and his tone turned almost to pleading. "Will you let me marry you, Cora? Will you let me take care of you, and of this child?" She could only nod through her tears, and he took her in his arms again, this time with a soft kiss to her cheek.

This was mercy, she knew, and this was grace, and—although Robert had not used the word—this was even love. What Montville and Marks had offered her had only been cheap imitations of any of the three.

"Thank you," she whispered against his neck.

"Do not thank me," he said firmly. "You've made me the happiest man in England, Cora."

When they separated, he laid a hand to her cheek, and she smiled shyly as he studied her face. "I only wish you'd come to me as soon as you discovered your condition," he said regretfully. "I would've made you my wife within the hour if I'd known." She bit her lip, thinking how much easier this would all have been if she'd been married—and married to Robert, married to this very good man—two months ago.

"What will we do now?" she asked him. She had no desire to prescribe dates or time limits or press him for anything—not because she feared to push too hard, but because she knew she could rest in the knowledge that Robert would do what was best. And what a relief that thought was.

"You deserve to be wrapped in gossamer and silk and looked after, not rushing about the country to balls and house parties, so you will start by going to bed very soon—it's late, and you should have been asleep hours ago. And tomorrow you will sleep as long and as late as you like, and your maid can bring you your meals on a tray, and you can rest all day if you wish, and we will tell the others you are unwell…I'm sorry; have I upset you?"

She realized tears had come to her eyes again, and she brushed them away. "Not at all. I'm sorry—it's only that that sounds so very wonderful, because I've wanted to rest for months now."

"Then we will get you the rest that both of you need. I will come to see you after luncheon, and we will make decisions about the wedding. But I will say good night for now, because you are far too exhausted to stay up talking any longer."

He kissed her cheek again and walked her to the stairs.

* * *

AN: I think this should be fairly obvious in this chapter, but I also know that the "Robert married Cora for her money and fell in love later" narrative from canon is really ingrained in Downton fans, so I wanted to explicitly state that in this AU, Robert does love Cora, and this isn't more manipulation in an attempt to get his hands on the money. He does need money, but as she says, he could marry another heiress, but he's fallen in love with her. (He probably wouldn't say that himself, though. He'd just tell you that he cares deeply for her.)


	11. Chapter 11

"Well, I said it last night, and I'll say it again, miss: you've been incredibly lucky in Lord Downton," Griffin said as she picked up the tray with the remains of Cora's lunch.

Cora nodded and was about to agree when she was interrupted by a knock at the bedroom door.

"Cora?" Robert's voice softly called her name, and she thought her face might break at the wideness she could suddenly feel in her smile.

Griffin laughed. "Ah, you do look happy, miss." She set the tray back down on the table next to the chaise where Cora was reclining and went to open the door.

"I'm glad your maid's here," he said, offering Griffin a smile as he stepped inside. "I'd have suggested you ring for her otherwise so we're not alone up here. Please stay, Miss…"

"Griffin, my lord," the maid supplied with a curtsy.

"Miss Griffin," he finished. "Thank you."

Cora smiled wryly. "I don't have much reputation left to lose, Robert."

"You do, actually," he said as he came to stand near her. "I've done some thinking, and I think we can cover this so that no one else has to know the baby wasn't conceived after our wedding." She opened her mouth to question him, but he shook his head. "But first you must tell me how you and our little one are." _Our little one,_ she repeated to herself, rather amazed at the words. She remembered well Montville's _your bastard_. "Did you rest well last night and this morning?" he asked.

She nodded. "Yes, thank you. This is the best I've felt in months." And it was, truly—she was stunned at how much a good night's sleep, a leisurely morning, and a few hours without worrying had done for her.

"Good, good. And how is your wrist?"

It was stiff and sore, but she did not want to complain, not when everything else was so perfect and she knew it would only upset him. "Griffin brought me some more ice this morning," she said, evading the question. "That's helped."

Robert's eyes darkened briefly, but otherwise he covered his anger well. "I think that's the best thing for it," he said, reaching out to stroke her cheek with the back of two fingers. "Keep on with the ice." She nodded, wanting to reach up and take his hand, but she was still too shy in his presence.

"I'm sending a doctor up later," he went on as he took a seat in the chair across from her. "I'll ask him to look at your wrist, too, but I doubt you've had any medical attention this whole time—" she shook her head no— "and I want to make sure that everything's as it should be for you and the baby." She nodded, feeling tears gathering in her eyes again. She could not imagine Lord Montville wondering if she ought to see a doctor.

"Don't worry," he said, misinterpreting her emotions. "The others won't think anything of a doctor visit since I've told them you're ill, and our family doctor will handle this very discreetly. I've known him all my life."

"It's not that," she said, quickly wiping her eyes. "I'm just not used to…being treated like this, and it's wonderful."

"Cora, you are to be my wife in a matter of a few days, and you're carrying my baby…or at least a child I will consider mine. You must not keep on being shocked every time you realize I care for you."

"I'm sorry," she began.

"Don't be sorry. I'm glad to know you're at least happy now," he said, and she nodded, for she didn't think she could have been made any happier.

"I have been thinking," he said after a pause, "of how we might bring this off so that there's no question that the child's mine. I wonder if it might be best for you to remain in your room for a couple days until the rest of the guests leave on Tuesday, with the excuse that you're unwell. That would let you avoid questions about Lord Montville's departure early this morning, and it would make it natural for you to stay on after the house party. And it would be easier for you to…" He gestured towards her figure, and she blushed, realizing he was aware that, while she had dressed, she had foregone her corset at last.

"That's all perfectly fine," she said quickly, relishing the idea of lounging about for two days and reading books rather than making small talk with strangers.

He nodded. "Then on Tuesday, everyone will leave but you and your mother. I will speak to my parents and explain the situation—and you'll want to have told your own mother by then as well—"

"What will your family think?" she interrupted. She knew the truth could not possibly be hidden from his parents, but she had not thought about this extra bit of humiliation until now.

"Leave that to me," he said firmly. "My mother will be angry with me, but she would have been angry regardless—you're an American," he said, and she smiled. "She's a very traditional woman, and I won't pretend she'll be happy about your situation. But she's also a very practical woman, and I think she'll be glad you have the money the estate needs. I think she'll eventually learn to overlook anything else...even if takes awhile, and in the meantime, please leave her to me. And my father won't make trouble at all, I don't think. He trusts my judgement, and you should find him a very compassionate man."

She nodded, thinking that Robert must have gotten his character from somewhere.

"I'll speak to the vicar as well—his living is tied up in the estate, so I don't expect him to object—and then we can be married this very week. After the wedding, your mother can return to New York, and you and I can go to a property my family owns in Normandy, provided the doctor thinks you're well enough to travel to France. I think you'll like it very much—it's lovely this time of year.

"My family will spread the news that you and I became engaged after the house party and traveled back to New York together so that you could be married from your own home, and then we took an extended honeymoon on the continent. Nothing could be more proper. Meanwhile, you and I will stay in France and wait for our baby to arrive—when will that be, exactly?"

"About another six months, by my count," she said. "The beginning of January, roughly."

He nodded. "We'll wait for the baby to come in January. Then we'll wait another few months and then return to England, at which point my family will spread the story that you've only just given birth. By the time anyone outside the family and the servants sees the child, it will be old enough that no one will be able to tell its age in months, and I suppose it will just have to go through life celebrating its birthday in April instead. Does all that sound agreeable to you?"

It was more than agreeable—she had not thought to imagine that he could erase the last few months so completely. "It's…more than I would have dreamed of," she said softly. "But…what about Lord Montville?" With the ache in her wrist, it was hard to forget him, and she could sense his shadow hovering at the edge of the conversation.

"What about him? Did you want to marry him instead?"

"Oh no," she said, glad he saw it as a small enough issue to jest about. "But he knows everything, and won't he want to ruin me now that we're not getting married?"

"You know, funnily enough, Cora, I don't think he will." Robert's tone was light, but his eyes had darkened again. "We had a chat about that this morning, just the two of us. If he so much as mentions your name to a third party, he's aware that I'm going to sue him for everything he's worth. And whether I would win or not, I emphasized, was beside the point—I'd fight him long enough and hard enough that the legal bills alone would ruin _him_. In the end, he decided that holding onto his estate might be more fun than gossiping about you."

* * *

"Cora?"

Confused, she heard her mother's voice calling softly from the other side of the bedroom door, and she straightened, realizing she had dozed off while reading on the chaise. How glorious simply to be able to _nap_ , she thought as she tried to stretch out the stiffness in her neck.

"Come in, Mama," she said after a moment's hesitation. She'd been dreading this conversation all day.

"Are you all right, sweetie?" Martha said as she let herself in. "I heard you were ill. What's wrong? Has something gone wrong between you and Lord Montville? Is that why he's disappeared?" Her eyes feel on the bandaged wrist. "And what's happened to your arm? Are you hurt?"

Cora was silent, not sure where to begin, and her mother finally said, more worry tinging her voice, "Cora?"

"I'm not ill," she said at last. "And I tripped last night and sprained my wrist, but it's all right. But I think you had better sit down." Her eyes on her daughter, Martha sat down slowly in the chair Robert had occupied an hour earlier.

"I—Lord Montville and I are no longer engaged. I'm going to marry Lord Downton instead."

"Lord _Downton_!" Martha exclaimed. "Why, that's wonderful! Wonderful, darling, wonderful. But why didn't you come and tell me at once? And why have you shut yourself up in here?" When she fell silent again, Martha sighed. "What is it, Cora? What's wrong with you?"

"This isn't an easy thing to say to you, Mama." She paused. "I'm going to have a baby." Her mother gasped, but Cora ignored it. "Andrew Marks and I were… _together_ when we were in London, and I'm pregnant. Robert knows—he's been so incredibly kind, and he's going to claim the baby as his own—but it means we'll be getting married this week."

There was a long silence after this speech as Martha stared at her, her hand over her mouth and a look in her eyes that Cora could not read. "Please, Mama," she said at last, bracing herself for a torrent of horrified condemnation. "Say something. Tell me you're angry, but please say something."

Martha shook her head. And then she did the last thing Cora expected: she stood, sat down next to Cora on the chaise, and embraced her tightly. "Oh, my baby," she said, her voice cracking. "I'm not angry, and the only thing I can say is that I'm sorry. I'm sorry you didn't think you could tell me this, I'm sorry you felt you had to face this alone, I'm sorry I didn't look after you better so that this wouldn't have happened to you…I'm sorry I've drug you all over creation! Goodness, you must have been miserable with all the rushing about. The early days of pregnancy often aren't easy ones, I know."

Cora nodded against Martha's shoulder. She had cried all her tears last night, and everything was too perfect now for any more grief, but she savored the feeling of being held again, this time by her mother, as Martha rocked her slowly, rubbing up and down her back.

"I wish you'd told me," her mother whispered. "How long have you known?"

"Griffin realized it and told me about a week after we left Downton the first time."

"All this time! My darling, I would have helped you; I would have done anything for you. Why didn't you say something?"

"I was ashamed," Cora whispered, her face burning. "I was ashamed of what I'd done and what a mess I'd made."

"We all make messes sometimes." Her mother kissed her forehead. "Goodness knows I've made a few in my time. But thank heaven for Lord Downton." She sat back and held Cora at arm's length. "He will be good to you, yes?"

"He already has been, Mama…better than I would have ever thought anyone could be. He's very kind and very honorable."

"Tell me, how far along are you?" She laid a gentle hand under Cora's chin. "When will you have your baby?"

"About three months, I think, and it should be born in January, shouldn't it? I would've conceived at the start of April."

Martha thought for a moment. "Yes, I'd say that's about right. Have you seen a doctor? Of course you haven't; I would know—"

"Robert's sent for one later today, so I will."

"Oh, he is a dear. How have you been feeling? Have you been nauseous?"

She smiled. "I've been perfectly wretched, but I've been better today, now that I've been able to rest."

Her mother kissed her cheek. "I'm sorry for that, sweetie. You shall have all the rest you need now." She reached down to touch Cora's belly. "Ah, there is a bit more there now, isn't there?" Cora laughed, but Martha's eyes filled with tears. "Oh, darling…this isn't how I wanted it to happen for you, of course, but…you'll be a _mother_ , and I can't wait to see my grandchild."

"And I'll be married," Cora said with a small smile. Her mother's acceptance had been the last bit of healing she'd needed. "So there's no lasting harm done, is there?"

Martha laughed and embraced her again. "No, darling, no lasting harm."


	12. Chapter 12

AN: All the words Travis says in the ceremony are drawn directly from the "Form of Solemnization of Matrimony" in the old Anglican Book of Common Prayer, which would have been used in nearly all English weddings in Robert and Cora's time.

* * *

Naturally, the only part of Robert's plan which did not work was the part where Martha would go back to New York.

"What?" she cried when the family gathered in the drawing room to discuss the arrangements after the other guests had left. "My daughter's giving birth in six months, and you expect me to sail for America _now_?"

"Mama, Robert and I won't be staying in England, either," Cora said. "We'll be leaving for France after the wedding." She hoped this was enough to convey that she did not want her mother to attempt to join them. She loved Martha, but she found her company and personality overwhelming at times, and she did not think it was in anyone's best interests to have her as a houseguest in the early days of the marriage, while she and Robert were just getting used to each other as husband and wife.

"Oh, sweetie, I wouldn't dream of pushing in on your honeymoon! But home is such a distance to travel only to need to be back in January. I think it would make far more sense for me to stay here at Downton, and then when it's time for my grandchild to be born, I can join you in France then."

"You would be quite wel—" Lord Grantham began, but Robert's mother, who had barely spoken to or looked at Cora since she'd learned of the engagement, was already shaking her head.

"I'm not sure we've quite got the space, Mrs. Levinson," she said icily.

"Not have the space?" Martha sputtered. "In a house of this size? In a house that my daughter's practically paid for?" Cora winced, and Lady Grantham closed her eyes as though in pain.

"We shall have a number of guests this fall," the countess said. "I should hate to have to evict you if we needed your bedroom."

Martha opened her mouth to reply, but Cora cut in. "Mama, perhaps you could tour the continent a bit. We'd talked of doing that, when we came over. You could see Paris and Rome and the Alps, and then you could come to visit Robert and me when the baby is ready to come." This suggestion was begrudgingly accepted, with the amendment that Cora's mother would arrive in time for Christmas so as not to miss an early birth.

* * *

The wedding was two days later, a quiet affair in the village church. There was no decorated carriage, no crowds lined up outside, no specially made dress, no marquee on the lawn, no fabulous banquet for hundreds back at the Abbey. No one in the village knew of the quiet ceremony—after all, they were supposed to be marrying in New York—and the bride's mother and the groom's parents and sister were the only guests, gathered close on the front pew. It could not have been further from anything Cora had ever imagined for her wedding.

Nor could it have been any more wonderful. She did not need guests or gowns or elaborate floral arrangements, not when Robert had given her such inarguable evidence of his love, not when she had seen so clearly what a thoroughly decent man she was marrying.

He had taken her hand as soon as she had arrived at the altar—this had drawn a sharp look from Reverend Travis, for that part of the ceremony was to come later—and his thumb was lightly stroking over the back of it in a reverent examination that suggested he was rather amazed to be holding it.

"Dearly beloved," Travis had begun, "we are gathered here today in the sight of God, and in the face of this congregation, to join together this man and this woman in holy matrimony…"

She did not hear all of his next words, because Robert was looking at her with that very tender gaze she had come to know in the last few days, and it was difficult to concentrate on anything else.

"Marriage is not by any to be enterprised," she heard Travis say, "nor taken in hand unadvisedly, lightly, or wantonly, to satisfy men's carnal lusts and appetites, like brute beasts that have no understanding." _Brute beasts_. If ever there had been a description of Marks or of Montville, that was it, she thought. Robert gave her hand a light squeeze, and she felt her eyes well up at the realization that he could know her thoughts and feelings so readily.

"But reverently, discreetly, advisedly, soberly, and in the fear of God," Travis went on. He began to list out the church's purposes for marriage: "First, it was ordained for the procreation of children, to be brought up in the fear and nurture of the Lord." She looked to Robert, and they shared a smile. The first half of that had been done already. "Secondly, it was ordained for a remedy against sin, and to avoid fornication." She blushed at that, but Robert squeezed her hand again, and she returned it. "Thirdly, it was ordained for the mutual society, help, and comfort, that the one ought to have of the other, both in prosperity and adversity." And these were the words that truly brought on her tears, and she felt her hands begin to tremble as she fought to hold them back, conscious of how much help and comfort she had already received from the man next to her. Robert brought her hand to his lips for a kiss and then transferred it to his right hand so that he could slip his left arm around her waist.

Travis's nostrils flared, and for a moment Cora thought he would stop the service to rebuke the groom. But he recovered himself and continued, "Into which holy estate these two persons present come now to be joined." Objections were asked for, and none were raised (she had half-expected Lady Grantham, who was affecting an air of dignified grief, to speak up), and then the young vicar reached the vows. She held her breath as Robert promised to love, comfort, and honor her, marveling at the thought that Lord Montville had intended to look her in the eye and lie with the very same words. And then she repeated her vows to him, and he placed a ring on her finger, and Travis pronounced them man and wife.

Robert kissed her then—kissed her for the first time, other than the small pecks on the cheek she had gotten several times a day since that night in his library. It was nothing at all like the kisses she had gotten from Andrew Marks, she realized as soon as his lips brushed against hers. It lacked the thrill of the fear of discovery and the excitement of a clandestine meeting, but that wasn't the difference she tasted.

The difference she tasted was that there was love in this one, and care, and a faithful promise, and she came away stunned that she had ever taken any pleasure in any other kiss.


	13. Chapter 13

AN: This chapter is moving up to M-level—wedding night time! :-)

* * *

Robert kissed her again that night, back in her bedroom, after they had made an early escape from the family. This time, it went on and on and on, their tongues brushing against each other in a sweet, slow dance as they pushed their bodies close together. She was not sure how they had broken the kiss in the church before it had reached this point, and she did not think they would ever have broken this one had it not been for the promise of more satisfying activities.

"Cora," he breathed when they pulled away at last, "I don't know how you could ever be any more beautiful." He ran his hands up and down her sides, and she could sense his eagerness to tear away the nightgown Griffin had dressed her in. "Is it all right if we…I don't want to hurt you, or the baby…"

"Oh no!" She shook her head. "No, the doctor said it was perfectly all right. _I'm_ perfectly all right. Please!"

He lifted her nightdress over her head slowly, reverently, and then took a deep breath at the sight of her body. She had worried that he would find the bulge in her stomach undesirable, for she knew she certainly looked pregnant naked, but if the look of awe and of hunger on his face were any indication, he could not have thought her body any more attractive. "Oh Cora, darling," he whispered, nuzzling against her neck, "I do think I'm the happiest man in all of England."

She let out a soft whine. "But you're still dressed; it isn't fair!" He stepped back, and she began to undo the buttons of his pajama shirt. Yet her left wrist was still sore, and it made the task a painful one. She winced, and a cloud passed over his face as he realized her difficulty.

"Darling, let me do that," he said, catching her wrist with a careful hand. But before he lowered it to her side, he raised it to his lips to press gentle kisses against each of the bruises that had left an outline of Montville's fingers on her skin.

He was quickly undressed as well, but before she could move to touch him, he scooped her up in his arms—she gasped with surprised delight—and carried her the few steps to the bed, setting her down on the right side. "You'll let me know if I do anything that hurts you, or you're worried for the baby, yes?" She nodded, her arms still around his neck, eager for him to start.

He joined her in bed, and she thought he would take her immediately—Marks had—but he did not. Instead, he kissed her lips again, and then her cheek and her ear and her neck, moving slowly down her body to kiss her shoulders and her breasts. She stiffened when he laid his hand there, and he pulled away instantly.

"Have I hurt you?"

"It's only—my breasts are tender. It won't always be like that; it's the pregnancy," she said, blushing and hating herself for breaking the moment. "I'm sorry."

He shook his head at her apology. "Shh. _I'm_ sorry. Is this all right?" She nodded in response to his feather-light caresses, and he gave a gentle kiss to each breast.

He then moved lower to lightly stroke her stomach. "Your belly is _beautiful_ ," he said, planting a kiss near her navel, and she remembered Montville's revulsion when he had seen her lay her own hand there.

He continued his tour of her body down to her toes, and then he took her in his arms, cradling her as though she were made of porcelain, and then _at last_ he was inside of her. She cried out in pleasure—Andrew Marks had been _nothing_ like this—and heard him murmur her name in return. And then they were rolling together, coupling again and again.

When they were finally spent, they lay quietly in each other's arms, her head resting against his chest. Unlike most brides, she had, of course, known what to expect, but _that_ had not been at all what she had expected. She had expected it to be fun, and she had expected to enjoy it, as she had with Andrew, but she had _not_ expected to feel as though she had been taken to the moon and back. She had not known sex could be so spectacular—for of course Andrew had thought only of his own pleasure, while Robert had thought first of hers.

There had been a different atmosphere this time, too: she was not afraid now, and it was not just because she had no first-time jitters or had no reason to worry she'd conceive. With Andrew, there had been well-placed nerves—which she had mistaken for thrill—just under the surface as she had given her body to a man she barely knew. Yet there was no fear with Robert, because, after what he had done in marrying her, she knew his character so deeply, and the whole act had been filled and blanketed with trust. She wondered briefly if this was the real reason she had been told she must be a virgin at her marriage: not because of the risks of conception or ruin, but because sex was simply _so much better_ with a man who loved her enough to pledge his life to her.

"Are you all right?" Robert said suddenly. "You're so quiet."

"Oh, I'm more than all right," she whispered, stretching up to kiss his neck. "I was only thinking how glad I am that we're married."

"You can't possibly be as glad as I am," he said, kissing her in return.

"Are you tired, darling?" he asked as she settled her head back onto his chest.

"Yes," she said, closing her eyes with a sigh, "but in the very best way possible."


	14. Chapter 14

As planned, they left for Normandy the day after the wedding, where the Crawleys had a small, pretty summer home on the coast. There were only a handful of staff, but no more were necessary as they would hardly be entertaining, and Griffin and Robert's valet of course accompanied them.

The rest of the summer passed in a haze of walks along the ocean and beautiful sunsets and long hours in bed together, and soon the fall was slipping by, too. They had more of each other's attention now than they would ever have again, Cora knew, once they returned to Downton and faced their responsibilities to the estate, and thus she found herself wishing that these days might never end.

She had wondered how Robert would take to the rest of her pregnancy, fearing that a theoretical baby that belonged to another man might be one thing, but one that filled her figure into an ever-present reminder that she had not always been his might be something else entirely. And yet he delighted in her blossoming belly, rubbing his hand over it and telling her how pretty she was and how "our" baby made her glow.

Nor could he have been more solicitous of her health and welfare. It was quickly apparent that his request to take care of her had not been a half-hearted, flowery addition to his proposal, for as her belly grew, so did her discomfort, and Robert was soon offering her backrubs and building nests of pillows to make her more comfortable in bed and fetching and carrying for her and telling her to stay off her feet. _And I'm not even carrying his baby,_ she would tell herself at first, but the thought gradually faded from her mind as she saw how intent Robert was on being the child's father.

* * *

"I'll go down to meet your mother at the train station with the carriage tomorrow morning," Robert said. "I expect she'll be in quite a hurry to get here."

"Mmm, she's always in a hurry," Cora murmured. "Tonight's the last calm we'll have until she leaves, you know."

They were lying in bed, Cora on her side with a pillow under her belly and another between her knees as Robert rubbed her back, as he'd taken to doing every night in the later months of her pregnancy. It was the evening of 23 December, and they expected Martha Levinson's arrival on Christmas Eve morning.

He kissed her shoulder. "Let me know if it gets to be too much for you, and I'll…I'll…"

"You'll what, Robert?" asked Cora. She'd yet to meet the person who could take on her mother and win.

"I don't know; I'll throw a net over her, or make her go sit on the front step," he said, and Cora giggled.

"Would you go a little further down on the right?" she asked, sighing with relief as he did so. "Oh, right there's good."

"Are you sorer here?"

"Yes…my back aches all over, but it's just awful right where your hand is. I've had the worst knot there all evening." She closed her eyes, moaning slightly as he dug in deeper. Her lower back had been hurting for weeks now, but it had throbbed worse than usual for the last few hours, and she hoped it wasn't going to stay this way until the birth.

"You should've said something, sweetheart," he said. "I could've rubbed your back earlier. There's no once-per-day limit, you know."

Cora could hear the concern in his voice, and it was almost as comforting as the massage itself as she thought once again of the man she had almost married. She had wanted to forget Montville, to forget that night in the library, but she could not quite push the feel of his hand on her wrist out of her memory. In recent days, she had considered more than once what a nightmare it would have been to be nine months pregnant and married to such a beast.

"Cora?" Robert's voice broke into her thoughts. "Is this helping?"

"Yes," she said softly. "Yes, it helps a lot…thank you." She sighed again. "I'll just be glad to get this baby out of me. I'm so tired of my back hurting all the time." And she was tired of her sore legs and aching hips and swollen ankles and of not sleeping well and having her insides kicked and feeling as big as a whale.

"I'll bet," he said sympathetically, pressing another kiss to her shoulder. "But it won't be much longer, darling. And you've done so well."

"That's easy for you to say. The doctor told me yesterday it would be another two weeks at least."

No sooner had she spoken than she felt it: the pain in her back suddenly shot through her stomach as well, and she felt the muscles in her abdomen tighten. She gasped at the sensation, her body going rigid.

"Cora?" She was vaguely conscious that he had taken his hands off her back, afraid to hurt her.

Then, just as suddenly as it had come, the pain in her stomach eased, and she slowly let out the breath she'd been holding. She rubbed her belly, but nothing felt wrong there.

"Cora, what's wrong?" Robert said again when she still did not speak.

"I–I'm not sure," she said. This was too early, wasn't it? Surely it was too early. And pain was nothing unusual at this stage. "I just…I had a sudden pain in my stomach, but I think I'm all right."

"If you're sure," he said skeptically, beginning to rub her back again.

But after a few minutes had gone by, her muscles tightened a second time, accompanied by the same searing pain, and suddenly she knew it was not merely a knot that she had been feeling in her back: this was labor, and it had been labor all evening.

"I'm having the baby," she said, her voice climbing with panic as she struggled to sit up. "Robert, it's coming right now!"

"Oh, God," he said, sitting immediately. He reached out to help her into a sitting position as well, quickly pushed pillows behind her back, and then scrambled off the bed, staring at her as though he expected the baby to emerge that second. "Oh God, you weren't due for another couple weeks! I…I…this isn't supposed to happen tonight!"

"Well, it is happening! It's going to be here soon!" The fact that it had taken her several hours to recognize her own labor had her in a panic that she would give birth in the next five minutes.

"What…what am I supposed to do?" he asked. "I don't know anything about babies!"

"Of course you don't, Robert!" she said, exasperated at his inability to think. "Go and fetch the doctor! Or ring for someone _else_ to fetch the doctor!" They'd only discussed the birth fifty times in the last month.

"Oh yes, the doctor!" he exclaimed, as though he'd just discovered electricity. "Yes, I'll get the doctor! But are you all right? Can I go?"

"No, I'm not all right!" she almost shouted. "But I'll be even less all right if you don't get the doctor in here! Now _go_!"

* * *

AN: Yes, I know I'm cruel to stop there...but I thought the baby's arrival should be its own separate chapter. :-) It's my last, and I promise I'll have it up by tomorrow afternoon or evening (US time).


	15. Chapter 15

She needn't have worried about having the baby before Robert could get the doctor: he had insisted on hiring an English doctor to travel with them—something that had seemed unnecessary at the time, when they both spoke passable French, but for which she'd become immeasurably grateful in the last month—and thus the doctor was staying just down the hall. And she would labor for hours and hours and hours: she was told it was normal with a first baby, and the doctor was not blinking twice at the time it was taking, but she began to think it would never end.

And then, at last, as the early light of the next morning began to creep through the window, the doctor asked her to "give us one more push, Lady Downton," and with a final burst of energy, she gave birth and heard the quiet cry of a baby.

"Oh," she said, sinking back against the pillows, "it's really here." And then she began to laugh, relieved and marveling at what she'd just done. "What is it?" she asked as Griffin, who had stayed at her side all night, mopped her brow. "What did I have?" The baby was crying heartily now as the doctor wiped it off.

He was silent for a moment, and Cora held her breath. "It's a girl, your ladyship," he said at last. "A very healthy little girl."

She realized at once why he had hesitated: he was not the family doctor from Downton; he did not know their situation, and he had likely seen many aristocrats disappointed at the lack of an heir. But she could not have been happier: she had longed for a daughter for her own reasons, thinking that would suit her best, but she was also so, so relieved at not having to present her husband with an heir that she would always know was not fully his own.

"Oh, how wonderful!" she exclaimed, laughing again. "How very wonderful!" She held her arms out as the doctor finished wrapping the baby, and he placed the warm weight in her arms.

The baby settled immediately as her mother pulled her to her chest, and Cora gazed down at her, drinking in every detail of her face. "She's got my eyes," she said to no one in particular. "She's got my eyes." There was also a shock of dark hair like her own. She was instantly thankful that this baby would likely _not_ look like Andrew Marks: she did not hate him—in fact, some days she could not even quite remember his face—but she did not want a constant reminder of the difficulty she'd faced in bringing this baby into the world.

But she would have loved it anyway, she knew. A small hand snaked out of the blanket, and when she brushed her finger against it, the little fingers wrapped around her larger one as the baby continued to stare up at her.

"Hello, my darling," she whispered. "I'm your mama." And then the tears began to pour from her eyes: large teardrops, and with surprising speed.

"Ah, that's quite normal, my lady," she heard Griffin say as the maid began to wash her. "Ladies often cry for no reason in the days after a birth."

Yet Cora knew she wasn't crying for no reason. She was crying because she was so, so glad she'd had this baby and not "taken care of it" as Andrew had told her to do, because she could not imagine having to give this child away as her maid had suggested, because it was surprisingly wonderful to finally hold a baby that had been the object of so much thought and so much agonizing for so long, and because she knew she'd be raising this baby—this daughter who she already loved more than she could have imagined—with a very, very good man.

* * *

"We have a daughter, Robert," she said when he entered the room. He had been up all night as well, she realized immediately, and he had not bothered to change out of the pajamas he'd been wearing last night. "Come and hold her."

He gingerly climbed into the bed, sitting down next to her, and she passed him the baby. "A beauty like her mother," he said hoarsely. He kissed Cora warmly. "Thank you, my darling."

She gave him a confused look. "What?" She had been thinking since the child had been placed in her arms of how thankful she was to _him_ , that he had made it possible for her to have her daughter and raise her herself without either of them living as an outcast, and then loved her and the baby on top of it all.

"Thank you," he repeated. "Thank you for giving me your child."

She did not trust herself to speak, so she was thankful that a moment passed before he said, "What do you want to name her?"

She shook her head. "No, tell me what you want to call her."

"Darling, you've carried her in your body for nine months, and I know it hasn't always been easy. I think you've got the right to name her what you like."

"No," she said firmly. She wanted Robert to choose the name, as a mark that this child was truly his, and in honor of what he'd done for them both. "No, you choose, please."

He seemed to understand and considered for a moment. "Mary," he said at last. "Mary Josephine. I've always liked those names. Mary Josephine Crawley."

She gave him a teary smile, and he dried her eyes with his thumb. She loved the names, but what she loved best was the last one.

She was aching to hold her baby again, and he could tell, for he passed Mary back with a smile. "Darling," he said, taking her face in his hands and kissing her forehead. "You gave me quite a scare last night."

"What do you mean? Nothing was wrong." Nothing she'd been aware of, anyway. The doctor had told her all night that everything was progressing just as it should.

"Yes, the doctor kept coming down and telling me that, but…you were screaming, and…"

She smiled indulgently. "Of course I was screaming, Robert. You would scream too if you were having a baby. It's very painful!"

"Yes, darling, I know," he said, stroking her cheek. "But it frightened me…because I kept thinking, what if I lost you?"

"Oh, Robert…"

"And then I thought, _you fool, you've never even told her you love her_. And of course it's not something we English say very often or very easily, but I realized I'd never said it at _all_. And I do love you, Cora, very much indeed."

She stared at him for a moment, slowly realizing that she _had_ never heard him use those words. She remembered that it had struck her as odd in the beginning, when he so clearly _did_ love her, but it had slowly faded from her consciousness.

"You've told me you loved me, Robert," she said.

"I…what?"

"Many times. You told me you loved me when you proposed that night in your library."

"I don't recall…"

"Oh, you didn't use those words," she said softly. "I think the phrase you used instead was, 'let me take care of you, and of this child,' but I heard what you meant. And then you said it again when you came to see me the next day and told me about this house here and how we could pretend the baby was born later than she was, and then again when you took on your parents and prepared to sacrifice having an heir of your own blood and made the arrangements for us to marry and come here. And you've told me every day since." She reached up to pass her hand through his hair. "You sweet man, did you honestly think I didn't know you loved me?"

No words were necessary as he leaned in for a long, warm kiss, the baby between them.

Before they pulled away, there was the sound of loud voices downstairs, and Cora at last leaned back.

"Who is that?" she asked, but Robert's face suddenly turned stark white.

"Oh God," he whispered. "I forgot about your _mother_."

"It _is_ Christmas Eve morning, isn't it?" she breathed.

And then the voices got closer, and the words were clear: "I don't know what's gotten into my son-in-law! He knew very well what time my train was coming, and I sat and I sat and I sat and saw no Englishman! So I hired a carriage myself. Undependable aristocrats…I assume Cora's upstairs? She ought to be resting, at this stage."

The house's butler, who had been sputtering all along, said, "If you'll just wait, ma'am, I think you'll—"

"My good man, I do _not_ need an escort to visit my own child!"

Heavy footsteps stomped up the stairs as Cora fought back her laughter, not sure the tired muscles in her abdomen would be able to stand it.

"I think," said Robert, who was now chuckling himself, "that you may have been right about our last peaceful evening."


End file.
